


Paint Me In Trust

by rhodee



Series: Anti Team Cap (but mostly, just Anti Cap) [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Author is Bitter, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Civil War Team Iron Man, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Misunderstandings, Not Clint Friendly, Not Natasha Friendly, Not Steve Friendly, POV Bucky Barnes, Tony Stark Has A Heart, i love him and he's a son of a bitch, not team Cap friendly, tbh loki's only in this story because
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:34:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24702376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhodee/pseuds/rhodee
Summary: “Stark.” Bucky repeats. The word is achingly familiar in his mouth. He knows that name. “I know that name.”“Yeah, a lot of people do. It’s also an adjective.”Or; what if Tony found Bucky first?
Relationships: Background Loki/Tony Stark, James "Bucky" Barnes & Avengers Team, James "Bucky" Barnes & Tony Stark, Tony Stark & Avengers Team
Series: Anti Team Cap (but mostly, just Anti Cap) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1767649
Comments: 168
Kudos: 869





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I had written this up almost a week ago, and naturally, I was so excited about the first chapter I just couldn't keep it in any longer! RIP self control.

“Hey– _hey._ Earth to Terminator. C’mon,” There’s a voice speaking from somewhere above him, and the Soldier finds himself drifting slowly into consciousness. “Seriously – if you just opened your eyes you’d know I’m not exactly in peak physical condition to lift you off of the floor.” 

The Soldier does as told. There’s the silhouette of a face blocking his vision of the dark ceiling above him. He squints, and upon closer inspection, the Soldier concludes that it’s a man. 

“Hey. Again,” The man says, and a beat passes before the man smiles – a flash of white teeth – like he’d just remembered to be friendly and non-threatening. There’s a ridiculous beard over the man’s chin. 

“Hi. Sergeant Barnes? Or uh, do you prefer Bucky?” _Bucky –_ it’s familiar. Someone else had called him by that, very recently. Wasn’t that his name? 

It must be his name, but how does this man know that? 

Bucky blinks. “Bucky,” he finally responds, and the man nods. 

The man doesn’t look like a threat, but Bucky’s been in enough situations to know that looks are often deceiving. There is a strain to the man’s words that suggest nervousness, which can either be attributed to a wolf in sheep’s clothing – intent on maintaining their cover – or genuine fear for one’s life. He has a gentle grip on Bucky’s shoulder, and while it’s reassuring, it’s not as reassuring as feeling the cold metal of his knife pressed against his left calf.

The man seems to be a civilian, which makes it easier for Bucky to eliminate him in a single movement if the man is indeed hostile. However, people that call him by his name operate in a grey area where Bucky can’t differentiate between friend or foe. 

“Okay. Uh— you know me. I think. I _hope,_ ” The man says, and slowly helps Bucky up into a seated position. It’s then that Bucky takes the time to look around. They’re on the floor, and there’s broken, dented tables and equipment all around them. There’s also a dead uniformed body a few feet away from the man, a bloody knife loose in its grip. Its form matches the red gash across the man’s hip, visible through the tear in his t-shirt. There’s blood trickling down from a cut on the man’s cheekbone; like he was quick enough to dodge the full extent of a knife attack, but not all the way. “I’m Tony,” he says. In an afterthought, he adds, “Stark.”

“Stark.” Bucky repeats. The word is achingly familiar in his mouth. He knows that name. “I know that name.” 

“Yeah, a lot of people do. It’s also an adjective.” 

_Stark._

“Howard,” Bucky whispers absently, eyes flitting away as a sharp memory spikes in his brain. The hand on his shoulder tenses, but it’s still mostly gentle. 

“—was also a Stark, yeah.” The man – _Tony_ – says. Tony Stark. Only child of Maria and Howard Stark. Mission report December 16th— Bucky was supposed to— 

“I was supposed to kill you.” 

“Figured as much,” Tony says, and Bucky freezes. 

_He knows._

“But, you could at least buy me dinner first,” Tony adds, a lopsided grin on his lips, seemingly unaware of Bucky’s realization. Bucky’s lips unconsciously mirror the man’s smile, twitching for a brief second before the words sink in. He shakes his head, blinks, and then;

“What?” 

“Never mind.” Tony shifts, increasing the distance between him and Bucky by a few inches. “Think you can stand?” 

“Yes,” Bucky answers in reflex. He doesn’t really know if he can, but he doesn’t want to give Tony the benefit of pitying Bucky’s vulnerable state. 

Tony stares at him, and a few moments pass until Bucky realizes it had been his cue to stand up. He moves his feet – there’s blood on his thigh, pooled around a piece of metal jutting out of his flesh. In one swift movement, he pulls it out. There’s an audible hiss – not from Bucky, but from the man, who then looks up in surprise at Bucky’s lack of reaction.

He doesn’t feel physical pain anymore. Not so much, anyway. 

“What happened?” He asks instead, deviating the interest from his wound. 

“Not much. I barged in guns blazing and saved your life.”

Bucky stiffens. 

“What guns?” If Tony senses the sudden shift in Bucky’s tone, he ignores it – which means he’s either really dumb or really smart. 

Tony shakes his head, like Bucky said something funny, and leans to the side as he cranes his neck, chin motioning towards the object of attention. “That gun.”

Bucky follows his gaze, only to be met with a standing metallic man. He’s painted red and gold, and at first glance, he doesn’t look all that deadly, but every bone in Bucky’s body is suddenly on high alert. The man doesn’t move. 

“Who’s that?” 

Tony looks at Bucky, back to the metallic man, and back at Bucky again. “What, the suit? Nobody, I— it’s empty. I wear it,” Tony says, as he stands up. Bucky notices Tony’s breathing is coming out ragged. He looks down – the spot where Tony had sat has a growing pool of blood. “I usually use it to fly around, deliver babies, all that.”

“Okay,” Bucky says. He hadn’t really listened to Tony, too focused on calculating how much more blood Tony can afford to lose. “You need to take care of your wound before you bleed out.”

Tony frowns at Bucky, and Bucky directs his gaze to the blood on the floor. “Ah shit,” Tony says, as one should when they’re bleeding out of their abdomen. “Sounds like a plan.” He looks up. “But I’ll need you to come to my tower with me. That okay?” 

He’s never had anybody ask permission. He’s only been ordered. “Why?” 

“Because the rest of the world is out for _your_ blood.”

Bucky doesn’t have to think twice. He knows who he is. What he’s done. “Okay.”

But he doesn’t know why the son of the man he murdered is offering to help him. 

“ _Okay?_ Seriously?” It seemed like Tony hadn’t quite expected Bucky’s answer. “Wow. Okay, great. Let’s get out of here before I bleed out for real.”

Bucky nods, and he moves to the first door on his left. It looks vaguely familiar, and he suddenly realizes he’s been here before. Before Bucky can push the door open, Tony stops him – too quickly. 

“No, not that one.” There’s a hint of fear in Tony’s voice; worry etched into his features as his eyes flick from the door to Bucky. He jerks a finger up to the caved-in ceiling. “We’re this way.”

“What is this place?” Bucky asks, following Tony, although he’s all too eager to know what’s behind the door, fingers itching to shove it open on its hinges.

“Ideal Federal Savings Bank,” Tony says, stopping right in front of the metal man. “And until ten minutes ago, a HYDRA base.”

“It’s familiar,” Bucky notes. He watches as the metal suit opens up, hollowed just enough for a man of Tony’s size to fit into. Tony steps in, and the metal suit closes, enveloping Tony. Bucky stares as the dark slits of its eyes come alive with a glowing blue color. 

“Yeah, I’m assuming you were forced to spend quite a bit of time here.” The metal man speaks in a faraway voice that echoes around the room. It doesn’t sound like Tony. “Okay, I know this sounds weird, and I know you’re not a damsel in distress, but I’ll have to carry you.”

“I’m heavy.”

“Are you fishing for compliments? Don’t underestimate me. C’mon, lift your arms.”

Bucky does. Red metal arms sneak its way under Bucky’s, and there’s the clink of metal when it meets Bucky’s left arm. 

“You good?” Tony asks from behind Bucky, who only nods in response. There’s a low whine from the metal suit and then – “Up we go.” 

Bucky’s feet are no longer touching the ground, and the next thing he knows, they’ve shot straight up through the hole in the ceiling, and Bucky can see the whole city around him. The city’s speckled with golden and white lights, with the roads paving its way through the city like golden veins. A city that would have been bustling with noises and lights suddenly seemed so tranquil and picturesque from above – glowing dots from buildings, from streetlights, from cars almost glittering in his vision. Bucky doesn’t think he’s seen anything as beautiful as this before. 

He’s had his fair share of international missions, ultimately ending them with a trail of bodies on all seven continents. He’s never _not_ been on the move, never been able to just stop and take in the beauty of the world. The Winter Soldier never cared about the world, never cared about what it looked like, never cared for its ever-changing technology, the growing infrastructure, or the different cultures and cities bridged themselves. The man he had once been would not have hesitated to stop and take in the beauty of the world, but it’s been a long time since he’s been that man. 

They’ve been in the air for almost an hour when Bucky figures that a reasonable time has passed, and as much as he would like not to put an end to the scenic view from above, he’s slightly concerned about the bleeding man. He shifts the attention away from the cities passing below him, turning his head ever so slightly so that his words aren’t lost to the high wind speeds. 

“How much longer?” 

“We’re just a few dozen miles away from New York,” comes the reply from above him. “12.4 minutes.”

Since he has nothing better to do to fill the time, Bucky starts counting. Exactly 12 minutes and 24 seconds later, they land on the balcony of a tall building. 

“Home sweet home.” Tony’s voice is back to normal. Bucky turns, and instead of facing the metal mask, he meets Tony’s face. The suit continues to open up, from his chest to his arms, down his torso and his legs. Tony steps out of the suit, clearly expecting his own two feet to hold him up, but he stumbles. Bucky’s arms shoot out to brace Tony; hands placed on either side of his shoulders to steady him. Going off of the man’s paling complexion, Bucky figures it’s from the blood loss. 

“It’s your wound,” Bucky says when the shorter man finds his bearings. 

“Really?” Tony breathes out, lifting his t-shirt to look at his wound. “And here I thought it’s old age catching up to me.” 

“It could be.” 

Tony’s head snaps up, eyes narrowing only a brief second before his face stretches into an amused smile. “Look at you catchin’ up.”

Bucky mirrors the smile and follows Tony while the man heads inside the building. Bucky would have preferred to stay out on the balcony a little while longer, but something tells him Tony might appreciate the company. He slows his strides as he takes in the interior of the building. 

It’s a living room, and it’s more than spacious for a single person. 

He spots two exits – elevator, stairwell – (three, if he counts the balcony) and thirteen cameras. There’s a glimpse of a metal shutter in the thin space along the upper seams of the glass walls. There’s a reflective surface on almost every piece of furniture, and where there’s a table, there’s a mirror or a reflective object placed on it. The corridor towards the end of the room probably leads to the bedrooms and bathrooms, but there’s nothing that’s remotely close to the exits except for a single table. Everything else is a considerable distance away. 

It doesn’t take long for Bucky to recognize the interior as belonging to someone who doesn’t like people sneaking up on them. 

“I’d give you a tour, but it seems like you helped yourself in that area,” Tony says from somewhere to the side. Bucky turns, only to see Tony shirtless and perched upon a counter, feet dangling a good 20 inches above the tiled floor. He’s wrapped a white bandage around his waist; a light patch of red seeping into the material from where his wound is.

“Are you sure that’s enough?” Bucky eyes the growing patch of red. 

“Yeah,” Tony shrugs, looking down at his waist. “Nothing a few hours of bed rest can’t fix.” 

**_“A day of bed rest, Sir.”_ **

Tony scrunches his nose in slight annoyance just as Bucky’s head snaps up, more focused on the new voice that seems to have come from the walls. His fingers twitch for the knife tucked against his calf. 

“Who’s that?” 

“Someone who thinks he’s my father,” Tony answers hotly. He shoots one glare towards the corner of the ceiling – where one of the camera’s rested – before turning to Bucky. “That’s JARVIS. He’s an artificial intelligence – part-time father and full-time know-it-all.”

 **_“I’m honored you think so highly of me.”_ **Bucky still can’t figure out where the voice is coming from; there must be a speaker somewhere that he hadn’t noticed. He looks at Tony, who’s staring right back at Bucky.

Tony’s the first to look away, eyes settling on a vague area to his right. “Note the sarcasm, Jarv.”

**_“Right back at you, Sir.”_ **

Tony lets out an amused laugh and shakes his head fondly, before turning to Bucky. “If you need help with something, just call out to him. He’ll help you when I’m not around.” 

_When he’s not around?_

“Where are you going?” Bucky asks, his voice coming out sharper than he’d expected it to. Tony looks taken aback, peering at Bucky with narrowed, curious eyes. 

“Nowhere—?” Tony says, but it comes out as more of a question. And then his eyes widen. “ _Oh_ , I meant— Sorry, I just assumed you were staying.” 

Bucky notes Tony looks slightly embarrassed. It’s weird. 

“Here?” Bucky clarifies. Why would anyone willingly let the Winter Soldier, an assassin with over seventy years of kills, invade their space? 

Suddenly, Bucky wonders if this is some kind of cruel, psychological punishment that Tony wants to inflict upon him. Every moment of every day would serve as a waking reminder of the lives he took, of the cold-blooded murder of Howard and Maria Stark, and their orphaned child. Everywhere he’d look, the name Stark would glare right back at him. And, every time he’d look at Tony, Howard and Maria would be glaring back at him. It would only be a matter of time before the overwhelming force of guilt takes over and Bucky loses his grip on reality. The Winter Soldier could take it – he felt no remorse, no pain – but the longer Bucky goes without being reprogrammed, the more vulnerable he becomes. He’d be forced to uncover seventy years of guilt, seventy years of blood on his hands, and seventy years of being used as a machine. 

Tony is still staring at him. 

“You want me to stay?” Bucky asks and _hopes_ that he has a choice. He knows he’s asking for too much – having a choice, being able to _choose_ the consequences, is a privilege, and it was a privilege he’s missed out on for a long time. But Tony doesn’t speak to him the way that Bucky’s usually been spoken to. Tony asks questions. Questions that he wants Bucky to answer, from asking what he prefers to be _called_ to being concerned for Bucky’s well-being. 

Tony treats him like an equal; like a friend. 

“I wouldn’t be averse to it,” Tony says, and it’s way too casual, almost like he’s trying too hard to be indifferent. But it’s not a _no,_ which means Bucky has a _choice_ to leave. 

“That’s not a no,” he notes, trying to hide the relief in his voice. 

Tony shoots him a pointed look. “Don’t push it.” 

  
  


“I’m sorry about your parents,” Bucky says, his voice coming out in a near whisper. Tony had given him the cup of coffee about five minutes ago, and Bucky had cradled it in his hands for the whole of five minutes, having an internal debate on whether he should bring up the elephant in the room. 

The hot mug had been burning into his human palm, going entirely unnoticed because he was too absorbed in his own thoughts. Beside him, Tony had stayed silent the entire time, absently sipping on his coffee and looking deep in thought, until Bucky spoke, and Tony seemed to freeze mid-sip. Bucky hates the idea that he may have just ruined the rest of Tony’s coffee. Or day. 

“S’fine,” Tony says shortly. “It was a long time ago.” Tony’s voice sounds distant. Closed-off. _He hates me. I killed his parents and he hates me._

“Still,” Bucky insists. _Tell me you hate me._

“Nothing you could have done about it,” Tony says, a bitter-edge to his voice. As much as it is the truth, it’s still a painful reminder of how helpless he’d been under the hands of HYDRA. A hollow, carved out human with no humanity in him. 

“That doesn’t excuse—”

“I’m over it.” Tony snaps – his words final. 

“Okay.” Bucky doesn’t know what else to say that wouldn’t make matters worse, so he takes a sip of the coffee and lets his mind wander. 

_У меня есть для тебя миссия. Санкционируй и Извлекай. Без свидетелей // I have a mission for you. Sanction and extract. No witnesses._ ****

_Eliminate Howard Stark and retrieve the Winter Soldier serum. Eliminate the wife and son if they’re present._

“I’m sorry,” Tony says, and Bucky’s head snaps up. Tony’s eyes are fixed on him. Bucky blinks. Why is _he_ apologizing? 

“You didn’t do anything.”

“I know— I just.” Tony stops, breathes. “I’ve been told that sometimes I offend without meaning to– so. Just in case.” 

“What I’ve done trumps anything you could do to offend me.”

Tony’s lips pull into a bittersweet smile. “That’s one way of putting it.” 

“You live here alone?” Bucky asks, once again reminded that the space around them was much too spacious for a single person. 

“Mostly,” Tony shrugs, and when Bucky looks at him with a look that says _elaborate,_ Tony continues. “I’m sorta seeing someone; he stays over sometimes.” 

_He,_ Bucky notes. He doesn’t remember anybody being so open about their sexuality back when he was – well, _human._ But Tony seems like the type to be confident about anything, no matter the era. “Where is he now?”

“Out of the world.” 

Bucky raises an eyebrow, which Tony doesn’t spot until he senses Bucky looking at him in silence and turns to him. 

“No— like. Literally,” Tony starts to explain. “He’s a god – it’s weird. You’ll probably meet him soon. He has a habit of showing up unannounced.” 

“God? Like— Jesus Christ?” Bucky asks, entirely dumbfounded. He knows gods, knows religions, knows that god’s don’t spend their time dating humans, much less even physically exist. How do you date a _god?_ Is Tony a pastor? 

“Oh, _no_ ,” Tony says immediately. “Do _not_ let him hear you say that. He’s Norse. Deals with mischief, chaos, all that. You’ll see.” 

_Norse_ , Bucky notes, _European._

“Do you curse when he’s around?” Bucky asks, and Tony laughs like Bucky just made the funniest joke of the year until he realizes Bucky was serious, and stops. 

_What the hell has the world come to?_

“What do you remember?” Tony asks softly, breaking the silence that enveloped them. The lights had previously dimmed to a warm yellow – Bucky doesn’t know how, Tony had been beside him the entire time, comfortably leaning against the couch – and it had set a somber mood around them. It was a comfortable silence that Bucky found solace in, and he had strayed away to thinking of his past. Tony asking him the question had caught him off-guard, because it had been so long since they spoke, Bucky assumed Tony had slept in his seated position. 

“As Bucky Barnes? A few flashes,” Bucky confesses. “As the Winter Soldier? Everything.”

“Must be tough,” Tony comments. Behind the casualness in his words, there was a strain in Tony’s voice, and the unknown reason is only slightly worrying.

“That’s one way of putting it,” Bucky says, repeating Tony’s remark from earlier. Tony cocks his head, eyebrows raised, in a gesture of _touché,_ and looks away. It’s a familiar action, and it may have been several decades, but Tony’s gestures – even the minuscule ones – are a mirror reflection of a man Bucky had once admired, a man the Winter Soldier killed. 

“I knew your father,” Bucky says, _and I didn’t even hesitate to kill him_. 

Tony smiles, sad and amused at the same time. “You’re not the first person to say that to me.” 

“Who else has?” 

“Steve Rogers. Captain America.” Tony pauses, and then smirks. “You might have heard of him.” 

“He’s a friend.” 

“Yeah,” Tony says, swallows and then looks away. “He is.”

“Tell me more.” And so, Tony starts. 

“He called me Bucky,” He says once Tony finishes.” That’s how I knew it was my name.”

“You didn’t know your name before that?” Tony asks, brows knitted in concern, like the absence of a name was worrisome. _What’s in a name?_ He remembers reading somewhere, in a book maybe, _that which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet._ He shakes the memory away. Now is probably not the time to have his brain flooded with insignificant memories that contribute nothing to his identity. 

“Asset. Soldier. Winter,” Bucky lists out, face blank. “Any name that could dehumanize me. When they found out I recognized Steve, I knew they were angry. And then–” Bucky stops; frowns. He remembers people shouting. The trigger words had stopped halfway, his brain trapped at the threshold of who he was, and who he was forced to be. 

The familiar sensation of losing his freedom, his thoughts and memories, had come to an abrupt stop. 

“They didn’t— couldn’t finish— someone came.” He blinks, and looks at Tony. “Was that you?” 

“Maybe.”

“That’s why the door was familiar.”

“Maybe.”

“If you were wearing the metal suit, how did they cut you?” Bucky asks, and immediately regrets it a moment later, because Tony winces like Bucky just brought up a bad memory. He’s just about to tell Tony that he doesn’t have to answer when– 

“I got out of it, had to see if you were alive. Someone sneaked up on me and took me an embarrassingly long time to get the upper hand,” Tony says, leaning back against the sofa as his eyes dart down to his hip, where the wound was hidden behind his black t-shirt. 

“You were protecting me,” Bucky notes. 

“That’s one way of putting it.”

There are a few minutes of silence, and Bucky lets his thoughts consume him. From the corner of his eyes, Bucky can see Tony’s eyes fluttering shut. Tony is human, after all. Single-handedly taking down a HYDRA base wouldn’t have been easy, and he hadn’t come out of it unscathed either. 

There’s a question that’s been nagging at Bucky ever since he realized that Tony was there to help him; since he realized that Tony doesn’t seem to have any ulterior motives. 

Why would anybody want to help the Winter Soldier? 

Tony, in the simplest sense, is a victim of the Soldier’s crimes, orphaned and thrust into a world of heavy responsibility – the Stark fortune and _empire –_ because Bucky couldn’t fight back. And after all that, here Tony was, helping the man who murdered his parents. 

He could still see Howard’s face as clear as day; the flicker of recognition when he realized who the Winter Soldier was, the desperate plea for help as he said Bucky’s name. Maria Stark had her life squeezed out of her, and not through the weapon that HYDRA had fitted him with, but using his _human_ arm. 

His arm was no longer a weapon, no longer a part of his body that he could blame his actions on, because with the murder of Maria Stark, The Winter Soldier became a weapon himself. 

Beside him, Tony stirs and then wakes up in a jolt, apparently realizing he had fallen asleep without so much as a word. 

“C’mon.” Tony stands up and looks down at Bucky, his face or tone showing no evidence that he’d been dead to the world the past half an hour. “Let’s get you some sleep.”

“I don’t usually sleep,” Bucky says, but he gets up anyway. Bucky never really slept – most of his life was spent in a cryogenic chamber, and he was only ever awoken for missions. Once a mission was done – Bucky was skilled; it rarely took him more than a day – it was back to the chamber. 

“Wait till you hit the bed,” Tony says, leading Bucky to where he assumes the bedrooms are. If only Tony knew that the Winter Soldier hasn’t never slept on a bed, or that he hasn’t even felt one. 

Bucky follows silently, and when Tony opens the door to a bedroom and tells him to consider the room his – _it’s yours as long as you want it to be –_ Bucky can only stare at the man. 

A kind, forgiving man who’s all but giving a murderer a fresh start. 

“Thank you,” Bucky finally says. He doesn’t quite trust himself to say anything more. He fears that if he starts talking, he may never stop. 

_Желание. Ржавый. Семнадцать. Рассвет. Печь. Девять. Добросердечный. Возвращение на Родину. Один. Товарный вагон // Longing. Rusted. Seventeen. Daybreak. Furnace. Nine. Benign. Homecoming. One. Freight car._

_Ready to comply._

_“Please, don’t do this. I have a family.”_

_Ready to comply._

_“Help my wife. Please.”_

_“Howard?”_

_“Sergeant Barnes?”_

_Ready to comply._

_“Don’t kill me. Have mercy. I beg you.”_

_Ready to comply._

_“Hey! What the—"_

_Ready to comply._

_"Soldier?"_

_Ready to comply._

_Ready to comp–_

_“Bucky?”_

_“Who the hell is Bucky?”_

_“Bucky.”_

“Bucky.” Someone says. Their voice doesn’t fit… but it’s familiar. It’s not a hostile presence. 

“Hey. Wake up.” There are strong hands on his shoulders– _attack. He’s being attacked. He was careless – he exposed himself. His handler will punish him. There’s no other way-_

“Hey, you’re okay.” It’s the same voice again. Someone’s calling out to him, pleading and desperate, but it’s dark and Bucky can’t see– _can’t see_ . _He’s trapped in his own mind. One by one, the trigger words close the doors of his brain, and Bucky can no longer reach out to the person he once was. He no longer feels pain, no longer feels emotion. He is numb. A vacant shell of a man._

Bucky’s eyes snap open. 

“Hi,” Tony’s face looms over him for the second time that day. “I got you.” Tony’s crouched over him, and Bucky suddenly realizes the material beneath him isn’t fabric, and neither is it soft. “JARVIS told me you were shaking in your sleep, speaking Russian.” 

“Why am I on the floor?” Bucky asks instead, only to end up answering his own question a moment later. The floor is the only thing familiar to him. It’s what he’s become used to – not the comfort of a bed. 

“Your guess is as good as mine,” comes the helpful response. “Get up now. I’m guessing you had a nightmare.”

“That’s what happens when I sleep,” Bucky answers with a shrug too painful to execute, allowing Tony to lift him up even though Bucky was doing most of the lifting himself. 

“You sleep on the floor often?” 

“As far as I can remember,” Bucky admits. Tony watches, standing awkwardly at the side of the bed, as Bucky climbs over the sheets. The thick navy blue blanket remains untouched and folded at the foot of the bed. It’s only another element of comfort that Bucky is expected to get used to. 

Once Bucky has settled on the bed, he continues to look down at his feet, unsure of why Tony was _still_ looking at him. He feels like he’s under observation, under judgment for his cold-blooded actions. 

_You killed my parents._

A beat passes, and then Tony moves. 

“What are you doing?” Bucky asks, eyeing the man who’s shamelessly climbing on the bed and placing himself at the edge. Tony looks at him, and Bucky can sense a kind of conflict in Tony’s eyes, like he wants to say something, but he’s thinking once, twice, thrice. Finally, Tony shrugs. The casualness of the action looks forced. 

“It helps to have someone in close proximity,” is what he decides to say. Bucky isn’t one to push anybody out of their comfort zone, isn’t one to force someone to justify their actions. Tony looks uncomfortable, like he doesn’t want to, but _has to_ brace himself for whatever Bucky will say that might hurt Tony’s offer of an olive branch. “...If this is okay with you?”

A choice, _again._ There’s no logical reason why Tony would choose to be kind, to welcome Bucky with open arms and provide him with a living space. There may be no reason, but the explanation might be something to do with the calm before the storm. 

Tony must have seen something on Bucky’s face, possibly because Bucky may have been careless enough to let his feelings show, since his hopeful expression just drops. Tony starts moving, clearly intent on shifting away from the bed and leaving Bucky alone only so he could act like his little show of being a good samaritan never happened, but Bucky speaks before Tony can move any further.

“Okay,” Bucky says, and Tony stops mid-movement. He turns to Bucky, posture unsure and hesitant. “But, hands to yourself,” Bucky warns lightly – an empty threat in all its definitions – and the change in Tony's face is immediate. Tony smiles, and his shoulders drop in relaxation before he huffs out a small laugh. 


	2. Chapter 2

The first time Bucky wakes up, the bed is empty. It's dark, but it's easy enough to make out Tony’s silhouette absently gazing out at the New York skyline. Bucky gives no indication that he’s awake, minimizing his movement to just his eyes. He doesn’t want to make any form of movement that would draw Tony's attention to him, breaking the man away from his somber state of mind. The man looks at peace, his posture relaxed and loose, like it’s one of the few nights where he doesn’t have to wear a mask. Bucky knows all about wearing a mask - it makes it easy enough to identify when another person is wearing on. 

Bucky doesn’t move; he doesn't want to take any more from the man than what he already has. His time, his space, his family. 

The moon is still out – not in Bucky’s line of vision, but it’s certainly in Tony’s – casting a low light upon Tony’s features. It outlines the thick lashes framing his eyes, the slope of his nose, and highlights the dip of his cupid's bow that leads down to the curve of his lips. The moonlight illuminates his profile in an angelic blue, and Tony’s so still, so immersed in his own thoughts. He resembles a Greek statue, carved to perfection. With their inanimate faces filled to the brim with expressions that make passerby's stop in awe. 

Tony’s gaze is unfocused, lost in a sight somewhere beyond New York, as a finger absently circles the rim of an empty glass. His eyes cast downward, closing them for a brief moment before he sighs and opens them. 

He’s sad. 

There’s nothing else that Bucky can use to describe Tony at that moment. The kind of sadness a person drifts into when they think nobody’s looking, when they don’t have to keep up a facade, and for a strange reason, Bucky feels like he’s invading Tony’s personal space. Just by being awake, he’s taking something from Tony. 

Tony’s not wearing his perfected-through-the-years mask anymore, and Bucky can’t help but stare for a long time at the man underneath. Minutes tick by, and Tony continues to remain ever so still, and ever so lost in his own thoughts. Occasionally, Tony's lips part, a heavy breath passing through them before they close again. It’s almost like Tony's using the movement to let go of something, as if letting go could be as easy as breathing. 

Bucky continues to observe Tony for a while until he feels himself drifting back to sleep.

The second time Bucky wakes up, it's still dark out, but there's a slight orange tint of the rising sun at the edge of the horizon. Tony’s no longer seated by the window. Bucky turns his head to the other side where Tony's supposed to be sleeping, and is met with a pillow instead. There are three pillows linked down the middle of the bed like a makeshift partition. 

_He wanted to keep distance,_ Bucky realizes. Tony didn’t want to overstep any bounds, and it strikes Bucky how much he appreciates the gesture. 

He lifts himself up using his elbow, spotting Tony on the other side, lying flat on his back with an arm crossed over his face, and the other splayed across the middle of his chest. 

The next thing he notices is that there's a dark, damp patch on Tony's t-shirt, right over where his wound is. 

Bucky looks up at the ceiling, remembering that Tony had reminded him that he could ask his AI for anything. 

“Hi,” Bucky calls out softly, not wanting to wake Tony up. He knew Tony had said a name that Bucky had never heard before, but he can’t for the life of him remember it. “I’m sorry, I forgot your name.” 

**_“JARVIS, Sergeant Barnes. How may I help you?”_ **The voice comes from the ceiling, sounding anything but offended. Bucky quickly sneaks a glance at Tony, making sure that he hadn’t woken up because of Bucky. 

“Sorry,” Bucky apologizes, dragging his gaze across the ceiling. He’s still unsure of where the microphones are. “Jarvis. I’ll remember that. Sorry,” he says again before switching to the matter at hand. “Uh – is there a first aid kit around?” 

**_“There’s one in the bottom drawer of the nightstand to your right, Sergeant.”_ **

Bucky looks at the direction in question, spots the nightstand, and reaches to pull out the bottom drawer. There’s a white kit. “Thanks.” 

**_“You’re welcome.”_ **

He takes out antibiotic ointment, a thick roll of bandage and a few cotton balls from the kit, before putting it back. 

Bucky moves the pillow that separated their heads before addressing Tony. “Tony, wake up. You need to re-dress your wound.”

Tony doesn’t move, and there’s not a single sign that he’s awake except for the low “mm.”

“You’re bleeding,” Bucky points out matter-of-factly.

“Mm.” No movement. 

He sighs impatiently, helplessly holding up the objects in his hand.“I can’t do this while you’re lying down.” 

“Mm.” 

“Tony.”

Tony takes a deep breath, sighing heavily as he exhales. His arms reach up above him, stretching as while he arches his back and then continues that movement to sit up. And then, _finally,_ opens his eyes. He blinks once. “I’m awake.”

“You can sleep after this,” Bucky says, half-apologetic. 

“Doubt it,” Tony mutters, but complies anyway, shifting to face Bucky and lifting up his shirt halfway. The white bandage is stained with a huge spot of crimson, and Bucky sighs. 

For a man who’s bleeding out of his abdomen, Tony looks surprisingly indifferent. But he does look slightly inconvenienced at being woken up at the crack of dawn. 

After Tony goes back to sleep – Bucky waits a few minutes until he’s sure – he slowly gets off of the bed and leaves the room without making a single sound. He remembers seeing a bookshelf in Tony’s living room, and although it was highly unlikely he’d find what he was looking for, it doesn’t hurt to try. 

After ten minutes of helplessly scanning through a number of classic books – English and otherwise _(does Tony know all these languages?)_ – and a few books on science, Jarvis speaks. 

**_“May I help you with something, Sergeant Barnes?”_ **

“Yeah,” Bucky says, and glances around the room– a last-ditch effort to spot any other bookshelf that he may have missed. “Does Tony have old books about– about the war? ” 

**_“I can give you access to every book that mentions World War II. Is there any topic you require in particular?”_ **

“Anything that mentions Steve Rogers, really. Or specifically, Bucky Barnes, if there’s any?” Bucky asks. He doesn’t expect records that explicitly revolve around him, but there may be a few mentions of him in books and articles that mention Steve’s early life. “I mean, only if you’re able to– I’m assuming some of them may be hard to get.” 

**_“I have made available to you several digitized articles, books, and newspaper reports that revolve around James Buchanan Barnes, James Barnes, and Bucky Barnes,”_ ** Jarvis says, and Bucky stills. James Buchanan Barnes. Bucky hadn’t heard that name in a long time. Jarvis continues, “ **_I would suggest using the device on the table in front of you to access the information.”_ **

Bucky looks at the table. There’s a sleek grey object, around 10-11 inches in length, that suddenly lights up. It looks familiar. He figures he must have used an object of similar design during one of his missions. He moves forward, taking the device in his hands as he sits down on the couch. There are several titles listed out on the screen, mentioning Bucky, mentioning Steve, mentioning the Howling Commandos, mentioning Brooklyn, and almost anything that he presumes to be related to James Barnes. 

**_“The screen is sensitive to your touch. Please tap on the title that interests you, and you will be taken to another screen where you can read about the title in detail.”_ **

“Thank you,” Bucky says, and taps on the first one. He more or less knows how the device works – he’s been trained to adapt, learn and use anything he can to his advantage – but he still appreciates Jarvis’ guidance. There’s a whole page about him – from where he was born, where he grew up, his friendship with Steve, and how he ended up as a Sergeant; a member of the Howling Commandos, which came to an end with the fall to his death. 

**_“If you’d like, I can project the screen in front of you.”_ **

“No, it’s okay,” Bucky answers absently, not even looking up from the screen as he takes in the page displayed in front of him. “Thank you.” 

He’s only around ten minutes into reading when Tony shows up out of nowhere.

  
  


"Hi," Tony's voice nearly makes Bucky drop the tablet. Bucky’s often aware of his surroundings, and he would have heard Tony approach, no matter how immersed Bucky was in the device. He looks up to see Tony standing a few feet away, hands clasped behind his back and an odd smile on his face. Bucky notes he’s not wearing his pajamas anymore, but dressed in casual clothes. 

"I thought you were going back to sleep?" Bucky asks, only slightly concerned that Tony’s change of clothes may be because he was going out.

The smile twitches on Tony's face, and Bucky nearly misses it. Tony’s expression changes in a flash, a smile lingering at the corner of his lips as he approaches Bucky. "Why would I,” Tony asks, and his voice is suddenly different. Almost… seductive. Panic flares up in Bucky’s chest at the sudden proximity and change in tone. “If you're not there to accompany me?" 

_Wait_. 

"What?" The word barely escapes Bucky before Tony makes himself comfortable right beside Bucky, their thighs pressed against each other. A hand reaches up to cup the side of Bucky’s face – the touch so _soft -_ and it takes a moment for Bucky’s brain to catch up with the intention. "Hey– wait.” All too quickly, he swipes the hand away. “I'm sorry – I'm not– don't you have a boyfriend?" 

Tony hums, apparently pleased. "He does," and there's a wave of green that shimmers through his body. It ends with a not-Tony like person looking at him. He’s taller, leaner, and dressed in all black, matching the shoulder-length hair that’s been combed back. Where Tony had been tanned, this guy looks freakishly pale. 

"What the hell?" Bucky says. Blinks. _What just happened?_

"I feared Tony was cheating.” The guy cocks his head to the side. He has a strange accent; the words flowing easily out of his mouth. “You understand."

Cheating?

Realization hits him like a truck. "Oh, god. _You're_ the boyfriend?" 

"God is right.” The man smiles but makes no effort to move from where he’s literally attached to Bucky’s side. Bucky decides to shift instead, increasing the space between them. The man doesn’t comment on it. “Loki,” he says and puts a hand out. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Bucky takes the hand – it feels _cold_ – and shakes it once before letting go. "Bucky Barnes." Bucky stares at him, unable to come to terms with the fact that this guy was a supposed god. He looked and sounded human in every sense, except for the weird body temperature. He remembers Tony mentioning mischief, and if Tony’s offhand comment of “ _you’ll see”_ was anything to go by, Bucky had definitely just witnessed it first hand. 

"How do you know Tony?" Loki asks, bringing Bucky back to the conversation. 

"He saved my life."

"Ah, yes,” Loki says like it’s something amusing. “He does that quite a lot, I'm afraid."

Bucky nods, unsure of how to reply to that. He briefly glances at the screen on his lip, and it was all that Loki needed to get the message. 

"I suppose you can get back to your device now,” he says, standing up. “I shall go meet Anthony."

"He's resting,” Bucky says, almost defensively. There’s a small part of him that doesn’t want Loki to go and wake Tony up when he’s supposed to be on bed rest. “He's injured." Bucky suddenly adds as an explanation before Loki could jump to another conclusion.

Loki’s face shifts, expression darkening. Bucky gets the feeling Loki’s trying to look threatening. Loki’s eyes narrow before he speaks. "What happened?" 

"He got stabbed.” 

Loki looks almost taken aback at the response. "He got sta–” He cuts himself off and then takes a deep breath as if to compose himself. “For Norns' sake," Loki mutters under his breath before purposefully heading to Tony’s room. 

An hour later, Tony emerges out of the bedroom. "In my defense, I warned you he'd show up unannounced."

"You didn't tell me he'd be looking like you," Bucky points out. 

"I clearly did not factor jealousy into the equation," Tony says before he takes a seat on the couch opposite Bucky. Bucky suddenly realizes that Loki hadn’t come out of the bedroom. 

"Where is he?" 

"Went back to his realm,” Tony waves a hand like it’s an everyday thing. “He's busy being king."

"He's a king?" Bucky repeats incredulously. He’s contemplated the last hour trying to wrap his mind around the fact that Tony’s dating a very human-like god, only for him to find out that Tony’s also dating a _king._ How is it that Stark men always find their lives revolving around the most unrealistic things? 

"No, his father – well, adopted father – is,” Tony explains. “You ask me anything more, you're going to be abetting treason."

Bucky doesn’t really care. He’s done worse. "Where is his father?" 

"So much for self-preservation. His father's somewhere on Earth. Remember the thing he did where he looked like me?” Tony asks and Bucky nods slowly, trying to make sense of the situation. Trying to make sense of how casually Tony seems to be discussing shape-shifting like he’s audience to it every day. On second thought, he probably already is. “He's doing that, except, he's his father. Don't tell anybody."

“I don't know anybody to tell."

Tony straightens, eyes narrowed in mock suspicion. "You're telling me if you knew people, you'd be telling them? Also,” Tony points out. “You know Steve.”

“Do I?” Bucky asks, almost rhetorically. He’d meant it as a joke, but he catches the look on Tony’s face, and Bucky realizes too late that his response had come sadder than he’d expected. Tony looks almost apologetic, trying to get a read on Bucky as his eyes scan Bucky’s face, almost like it would provide Tony with a fitting answer. 

Bucky looks away, his eyes falling upon New York’s skyline. The past seventy years, he’s never been able to just… stop. He’s only been sent on missions, following which he’d have to report right back to his handler. He’d missed so many years of change and development, years that he can never get back, but he could try to get his footing. One step at a time. He clears his throat. “I think, I think I’d like to go outside.” 

Tony pounces on the change in conversation. “Yeah. Of course,” he says immediately, and then, like Bucky’s words had only just registered, he adds. “Wait, right now?” 

Bucky shakes his head, turning to look at Tony, who suddenly looks uncomfortable. “Sometime soon."

“Uh, yeah. I’ll see what I can do,” Tony says, and it’s not a no, but it’s also not the yes Bucky was expecting. Tony sees the shift in Bucky’s expression, so he elaborates. “It's not really public knowledge but, there are people looking for you. It’s not just HYDRA anymore. The attack on the bridge hit news stations, almost everyone knows about the Winter Soldier." 

Bucky nods. That makes sense. It was the first time he’d blown his cover, finally bringing fact to fiction that there really was an assassin called the Winter Soldier. But, "They don't know my face."

"They know the piece of fashion statement attached to your left shoulder."

"I can hide it,” Bucky says immediately. His right arm unconsciously moves to rest on his left, and Bucky only realizes when he feels the cold metal on his palm. “Full sleeves. Gloves. Please." 

Tony looks taken back at the last addition to Bucky’s response. “You don’t have to–” He stops, shakes his head as if clearing away a thought and continues. "Yeah, I mean, you don't really need my permission. You can go out whenever you want. I just wanted to let you know to be careful." 

"Thanks," Bucky says, and shoots Tony a smile. 

“You don’t need to thank me,” Tony answers immediately, pauses, and then sighs. “Okay. I can get you a full-sleeved shirt, and some skin coloured gloves to match. J, you got that?” Tony flicks his gaze away when he addresses Jarvis, and then turns to Bucky again, looking almost apologetic. “It’s the best I can give you at the moment. I’d give you my clothes but they probably won’t fit. You know, 'cause you’re like, jacked. And I’ll get started on a more lifelike glove today. It’ll be easier for you. That’s what I meant when I said I’ll see what I can do,” Tony says, and his voice is edging on nervousness. “I wasn’t… restricting you or anything. I don’t– You’re free to do what you want here.” 

Bucky blinks. He hadn’t realized Tony was so affected by that one word from Bucky, that a single ‘ _please_ ’ could push Tony into mind into overdrive. “Yeah, I know that. Sorry.” 

“Hey, you don’t have to apologize. That’s not what I meant. I meant– you’re your own person.” Tony levels him with an oddly concerned look. He leans forward o his seat – determined as if trying to impart some kind of wisdom upon Bucky.“You know that, right? You’re not under anyone’s control anymore.” 

“Yeah.”

“So, you don’t have to like, ask for permission or anything.” 

“Yeah,” Bucky repeats. Apparently Tony’s trying to make it a point that the misunderstanding doesn’t happen again. It makes Bucky feel strangely at ease, that Tony was being so accommodating and giving Bucky the time and space he needed. It doesn’t help that every time he looks at Tony he sees Howard Stark. 

“Sorry,” Tony says, and Bucky snaps out of his thoughts. He doesn’t understand why Tony keeps apologizing to him. It’s like they’re playing a game of who can say sorry the most, and Tony seems to wants to win. When Bucky meets his eyes, Tony shrugs lightly, as if Bucky can’t see the effort Tony put into it to make it seem natural. “Didn’t want you to think you’re under my control just because you’re staying here.” Tony pauses. “Or something like that,” he adds casually, deliberately trying to reduce the personal significance in his words. 

The best way to make a person continue talking is to stay quiet, so Bucky does. After a few moments, Tony sighs. “Howard was like that. Trusted me as far as he could throw me, cared about me even less. He saw me as some kind of investment, like a side project that ended up taking too much of his time. Never forgot to remind me that I owed him for giving me a bed to sleep on.” 

“That’s horrible,” is all Bucky can say. It’s more than difficult to wrap his head around the fact that Howard had been like that to his own son. The Howard Stark that Bucky remembers was a man of charisma, a man who praised and received praise in return. He’d been a kind man – helping them, assisting them, coming to their need whenever he could. He’d treated Steve like his own son, even Bucky to an extent, and it was hard to imagine the same man treating Tony as anything but. 

“Yeah, well. Life gave me lemons.” Tony smiles bitterly, leaning back against the couch and folding his arms across his chest. 

“Were you able to talk it out with him?” Bucky asks, almost hesitantly. He’s treading on dangerous ground, he knows it, but he doesn’t think he could forgive himself if he killed Howard before he could be proud of his son. 

The bitter smile on Tony’s face twitches, and he looks away. “Nope. Old man left me high and dry.” He huffs out a laugh. “How convenient.”

Bucky feels his gut twisting at the confirmation of the words he’d been fearing all along. For one horrifying second, it almost feels like Tony’s doing this to him deliberately, inflicting guilt upon Bucky the same way Bucky had inflicted pain and loss upon Tony. It only lasts for a second, because he then registers the expression in Tony’s face. Tony’s mask had slipped, ever so slightly, and Bucky could see the same man he saw looking out the window last night. The same, desolate man. 

“I couldn’t even tell my mom I loved her.” The regret is clear in Tony’s face – regret that he couldn’t reconcile with his father, couldn’t give his mother his love, and maybe even regret that he helped Bucky. 

“I’m sorry,” Bucky says. It’s all he _can_ say. He hadn’t realized this subject matter would take a toll on his vocabulary, responding in phrases that are just as useless. “I didn’t mean to– It shouldn’t have happened. You didn’t deserve that.” 

"You keep apologizing, and I'm yet to figure out why," Tony says, looking almost amused; like Bucky's involvement in their deaths didn't even matter to Tony. On the other hand, Bucky can't even stop thinking about it. Tony inhales sharply. “Maybe I did. Deserve it, I mean. Otherwise, I would have just continued to live under my dad’s shadow. I wouldn’t be where I am now, definitely wouldn’t have been Iron Man, and you, my friend–” Tony points an index finger at Bucky, apparently fully recovered from the conversation and looking like a brand new man. A mask. Again. “-would probably still be HYDRA’s hitman. All’s well that ends well.” He stands up. “I’m starving. You?” 

**_“Sir, the purchases for Sergeant Barnes are being delivered to the penthouse.”_ **

Tony shoves the last spoonful of cereal into his mouth before responding to Jarvis. “Thanks, J,” he answers through a mouthful of food as he makes his way to a panel that slides open next to the elevator. Bucky figures it works like a kind of dumbwaiter to send deliveries up to Tony’s floor. 

“Okay, Robocop. You ready for your makeover?” Tony asks, walking back and placing the paper bags on the table. He pulls out a transparent package of skin-coloured gloves and slides it towards Bucky, who stops it with his palm. Tony takes out a bunch of dark, hooded sweatshirts. When Bucky raises an eyebrow at the colour choice, Tony grins. 

“What? Maybe I’m digging your brooding emo look,” Tony says. “And I figured it’ll blend with the shades of your traumatic past.” 

Bucky laughs, not missing the way Tony’s face just lights up. “How thoughtful of you,” Bucky says, taking the black sweatshirt and holding it open in front of him. A picture of Tony’s metal helmet stares back at him. 

“Thanks,” Bucky says, folding the sweatshirt in his arms. Tony’s already placed the other four sweatshirts on the table, neatly stacked upon one another. 

Tony shoots Bucky a nervous smile in acknowledgement before speaking again. “If you want to freshen up, the bathroom’s stocked. Toothbrush, toothpaste, face wash, etcetera. The products are at your mercy, Soldier.” 

Bucky’s head snaps up just as Tony’s eyes widen in horror, the nickname registering a second too late. “Oh _shit._ Sorry–” 

“No, it’s okay.” Bucky cuts him off, and Tony's lips are moving to say something else but Bucky beats him to it before the man freaks out for the second time within an hour. “No, really. I’m not used to hearing it without the…" Bucky trails off, searching for the right word. Contempt? Belittlement? How could he describe it? The way his superiors referred to him as Soldier, a term of respect, which felt like it was being dragged in the mud when it was referred to Bucky. "... malice," Bucky finally says. "It surprised me, s'all.” 

Tony stares at him for a short second before nodding vigorously. “Okay, yeah.” He brings his palm against his forehead. “Oh god. I think I just had an aneurysm,” Tony breathes out, dramatic enough for it to get a laugh from Bucky. 

Tony offers to drop Bucky a few hundred metres away from Stark Tower, the apparent reason being that returning would just be walking distance away. Bucky gets the feeling the actual reason is Tony not having to worry about Bucky getting lost somewhere further away. Tony had mentioned wanting to meet a friend downtown, saying that he’d be gone for a few hours at the most, and Bucky was welcome to return at his own time. Emphasized on the last part, actually. 

He points out a street where Bucky could get some shopping done, but not before making another jab at Bucky's preferred colors. Tony had given him enough money to buy a wardrobe full of clothes, and Bucky couldn't even refuse because they both knew he needed it. He couldn't just continue to dress in the same piece of clothing his entire life. He can just pay Tony back the first chance he gets – maybe after he gets a job somewhere. As a bodyguard, maybe. 

“I feel like a single parent sending his kid to school for the first time,” Tony says as he pulls up on the curb. The door on Bucky's side unlocks automatically. 

“Does that mean you’re worried about me picking fights?” Bucky teases. There's a kind of amusement in seeing Tony so protective over him, and it reminds him of the time when he used to be the same with Steve. 

“That’s one way of putting it," Tony replies pointedly, watching as Bucky opens the door and gets out of the car. He scans his immediate surroundings – people are completely immersed in their mobile devices, or immersed in a conversation into the same mobile devices. Nobody seems to give Bucky a second glance, although a few eyes linger on Tony’s car. 

Bucky turns and crouches, so he's at eye level with Tony. “If it makes you feel any better, I won’t lose.” 

Tony pauses like he's actually considering if it makes him feel better. “Nope," Tony says finally. "That does not make me feel better. That definitely does not make me–” The rest of his sentence is cut off when Bucky flashes an innocent smile and closes the door. He'd figured the end of Tony's sentence anyway. 

The message to Alexander Pierce gets intercepted by two agents, the information it contained being the one they were after the whole time.

_“Facial match for James Barnes in New York. 800 metres from Stark Tower.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me:   
> my brain: don't do it  
> me: *ends with a cliffhanger*


	3. Chapter 3

He’s standing outside a men’s salon, Tony’s mobile device in hand and contemplating on whether he should get a second opinion from Tony on getting a haircut, when someone calls his name. Bucky had heard the approaching footsteps, but he’d made the mistake of dismissing it as a passerby. 

"Bucky?" The male voice behind him asks, the tone is _familiar_ and _recent_ and it doesn’t even take him a second to attach a face to the voice. 

"Steve," Bucky says, turning halfway to look at his best friend standing behind him. Hesitant. Wary. 

"You remember me?" Steve asks, a hint of surprise in his words. He probably hadn’t expected Bucky to remember considering the last time they met. 

"Yes.” 

Steve's eyes trail down Bucky’s appearance, eyes lingering on the picture of Tony’s metal helmet on his sweatshirt before they land on the mobile device and shopping bags in Bucky’s hands. Steve brows pull into a frown, and for some reason, Bucky feels conscious of his outfit choice. "Are you on a mission?" 

"No,” Bucky says immediately. “I don't work for HYDRA anymore."

Steve nods, apparently satisfied. But his eyes suddenly flick to the side for a brief moment – a telltale sign of someone wearing an earpiece. Bucky pretends not to notice. "Who do you work for then?" 

"Nobody."

"It's okay,” Steve consoles and takes a step forward. He’s still cautious, trying to take it slow, but Bucky can sense Steve’s urge to drop all pretenses and pull him into a hug. He’s known Steve for a long time, after all. He knows him like the back of his hand. “You can tell me. You can trust me."

"And the people listening to us?" Bucky asks, and the sudden clench in Steve’s jaw is obvious that he hadn’t expected the question. 

"They're trustworthy,” Steve answers matter-of-factly. He hesitates, and then brings his hand up to his ear. “But if you're not comfortable…” he trails off as he pulls out the earpiece. He throws it at the ground in front of Bucky, and Bucky just kicks it to the street, several feet past where Steve is standing. 

"Why are you here?" Bucky asks, although the question comes out sharper than he’d intended. Steve’s eyes flash with something – hurt? – but it’s gone in a second. 

"I came for you.” The answer comes out almost defensively. 

"I don't need help, Steve," Bucky says, and looks away, making sure nobody else is taking an interest in their conversation. Bucky’s face may not be known, but he knew Steve’s was fairly well-known. It wouldn’t be difficult to recognize Captain America standing in the middle of New York. 

"Not help, Bucky,” Steve corrects and lowers his voice in a subtle warning. “You shouldn't be in this area."

"What's wrong with this area?" Bucky asks with a tinge of worry. Steve likely knows the area better than Bucky, and it's just as possible that Bucky may have missed something. But Tony wouldn’t have dropped him here if he feared Bucky’s safety, would he? 

"Tony Stark lives nearby,” Steve says carefully, eyes scanning Bucky’s face for a reaction. “Do you— do you remember what happened to his parents?" 

_Was that why Steve was scared?_

"Yes,” Bucky nods, keeping his face blank. “It was me."

"No, it wasn’t.” Steve’s quick to counter, but before Bucky can dwell on it, Steve continues. “But it's only a matter of time before Stark finds out. You need to get away from here as soon as possible."

Steve takes another step forward, his hand reaching to take Bucky’s but Bucky takes a step back just in time for Steve to grab at air. There’s a momentary expression of surprise and hurt that Steve looks at him with; like Bucky had done something so _wrong_ and _unexpected._ That Bucky did something he shouldn’t have done. He tries not to read into it too much, because the more he looks at Steve’s face, the more disappointed Steve looks. There’s a small, distant part of him that doesn’t like that. 

“Steve,” Bucky says, mouthing his next words very slowly. “He already knows.” 

For some reason, Steve looks absolutely _stricken._ “How do you know that?” 

Bucky doesn’t answer. Steve figures it out before Bucky can, anyway. He watches as Steve scans him down for the second time, _really_ scans him – the freshly trimmed beard, the sweatshirt with the metal helmet, the skin-colored glove, Tony’s mobile device, and finally, the bags with clothes that Bucky would have never been able to afford had he been by himself. There’s a range of emotions that pass through Steve’s face, easily spiking Bucky’s worry. He gets the feeling Steve is the opposite of pleased at the new information, and there’s the evident struggle in Steve’s face to refrain himself from asking the question he _wants_ to ask, and having to choose the one he _needs_ to ask. 

“What did he say?” Steve asks after a heavy silence. 

“That he’s over it,” Bucky answers shortly, realizing that the conversation was getting too invasive. He hates delving into the details of what was clearly a private conversation with him and Tony. He’d seen the way Tony had reacted, realized that it wasn’t something that Tony wanted anyone to discuss. 

“He lied to you, Buck,” Steve jumps in, and there’s sudden panic in his face. “There’s no way he’s over it. Now that he knows HYDRA killed his parents, he'll— he’s out for blood, and it’s only a matter of time before you get caught in the crossfire.” 

“Steve, it’s fine,” Bucky says, and he tries to sound as firm as he wants to. When Tony speaks, the confidence in his words just oozes out. It made Bucky _want_ to listen to Tony, and in all the times that he’s known Steve, his friend had never wanted to listen to anybody. “He didn’t even want to talk about it.” 

“Buck,” Steve says softly. “You of all people should know that refusing to discuss something doesn’t mean you’re over it.” It takes him a long moment to realize what Steve was referring to, his memory clearing to the time Bucky’s father had died when he was a teenager, and he had spent months refusing to talk about it with Steve. Steve must have noticed the expression on Bucky’s face because almost immediately, Steve's expression shifts. “Where is Stark now?” 

“I don’t know. He said he wanted to meet someone downtown,” Bucky answers, and Steve looks like the words had confirmed some kind of theory. 

“How long has he been gone?” Steve asks, carefully, like he’s almost scared of the answer. For a brief second, Bucky thinks Tony may have lied to him. The thought is quickly wiped away from his mind. 

“A few hours.” 

“Bucky, you need to stay away from Stark. You don’t know him like I do.” 

“Maybe not,” Bucky answers, and he doesn’t want to agree with Steve, but he feels that for the sake of the conversation, he has to. He sighs. “Steve, I know I can’t be forgiven for what I've done, but he was still kind to me. He gave me a roof, a bed, food, and clothes.” As if to emphasize his point, Bucky lifts the shopping bags in his grasp. Steve’s eyes flick to them before they look up to Bucky, who just shrugs. “That’s more than I could have asked— ” 

“You didn’t do it, Bucky,” Steve interrupts, his words cutting through Bucky’s. “It wasn’t _you._ ” 

It’s an attempt to transfer the guilt somewhere else, to try to get it off of Bucky. And Bucky appreciates it, he does. But he was still the murder weapon. He still had blood in his hands. Bucky sighs, taking a step backwards and shooting an apologetic look at Steve. “I have to go.” 

Steve takes a step forward the same time Bucky does, maintaining the same distance. “Where are you going?”

“Tony’s building. I live there,” Bucky says, and Steve’s face just falls. Bucky can’t look at it any longer. 

"Bucky, wait,” Steve says just as Bucky makes a move to turn. Steve looks plain devastated, and somewhere in Steve’s face, he can see the small, skinny Steve he once knew. “You'd choose him over me?"

Bucky purses his lips. It’s not a question he can answer – not in the way Steve wanted him to. Not with a yes or no. "He saved my life, Steve," Bucky offers as a way of explanation. If he was any other scenario, he wouldn’t have chosen a man he met last night over his best friend that he’s known his whole life. His old life, anyway. But Tony saved his life – from HYDRA, from being forced to kill again. And Tony had talked to him, had given him whatever he needed to be comfortable and get back to the world. Had _offered_ to make something only for Bucky. He owed it to Tony to return to the building. He gets the feeling Tony needs him to. 

"You don't know Stark,” Steve repeats.“He will do everything in his power to make you think you're safe until you're not." 

Bucky only notices then that Steve calls him Stark instead of Tony. Like they weren’t friends. And yet, Steve seems to say the opposite. Steve’s jaw clenches when he realizes he’s not getting through to Bucky. The frustration is clear on his face. “Buck. Stark does not see people, he sees machines, he sees projects, he sees power. To him, you’re just a project. But I know you’re more than that."

"No." Bucky feels a certain kind of pride that he’d said it so firmly. So confidently. The way Tony might say it.

"Bucky,” Steve says, just as firmly. “Come with me.” His expression softens, a ghost of a smile on his face. “We can go back to how we used to be."

═════════════

“And Barnes?” Rhodey asks, just as Tony sets the coffee down. He signals to one of the waitresses, and Rhodey waits until Tony turns back to him. “How’s he doing?” 

“Fine. Or good, I guess,” Tony answers, and then shrugs. The waitress comes to him, hands wiping her apron with a smile plastered on her face. “Uh, one cheeseburger, please.” She nods, and Tony waits until she’s walked away before he continues, “I dunno. One moment he’s wallowing in self-pity, and the next moment he’s passing snarky comments.”

Rhodey snorts, and then narrows his eyes as he looks away in thought. “Now _why_ does that sound familiar?” 

“Peas in a pod,” Tony counters, looking out the window. “I can’t get a read on the guy. He’s cautious, like HYDRA trained him to be. But I have no idea what he’s thinking.” He clears his throat, turns to Rhodey, and then: “Besides, I think Loki scared the crap out of him with his shapeshifting stunt.” 

“Yeah, well,” Rhodey says, cutting into his steak before pushing a piece into his mouth. “That’s what you get for getting in bed with Tony Stark. A god on your ass.” 

“Chew, please. Technically, I got on his bed,” Tony corrects. He had remembered the look on Bucky’s face even before he’d woken up, the way Bucky’s body was twitching in a manner that was so familiar to Tony. He knew the feeling like the back of his hand, when sleep took you back to the darkest memories in your mind, and by the looks of it, so had Bucky. He’d said _that’s what happens when I sleep,_ and it was like somebody had smacked Tony across the face for leaving the guy alone in the room. It was probably the first time Bucky was getting to sleep on his own terms and Tony had just _left_ him by himself, prone to whatever nightmares that haunted his waking moments.

It’s why he’d wordlessly got on the bed, praying to _god_ that Bucky doesn’t question his intentions, like what he was doing wasn’t already awkward enough. But of course, Bucky had to, and left Tony struggling with an answer for a few good seconds before he just resorted to a casually worded truth. 

“Technically, it’s your furniture,” Rhodey says, breaking into Tony’s bittersweet flashback. He bites into another piece of steak. 

“Now you’re being childish.” 

Rhodey pulls a face. “You started it.”

“So, tell me about your new girl. How does she do it? And by it, I mean tolerate you,” Tony asks just as the waitress sets down a cheeseburger in front of him. He shoots her a “thanks” before shifting his attention to the cheeseburger.

"Have you told Rogers yet?" Rhodey asks once she walks away, blatantly ignoring the cute diversion Tony had put out for him. 

"Nah,” Tony answers simply before biting into his cheeseburger. “Figured he's busy with the whole Hydra-SHIELD fiasco."

"Chew, please. And you're not?" 

"Apparently I'm not needed,” Tony says and gulps the food down. He hadn’t thought twice when he found out about Fury being attacked in the middle of the street under broad daylight, fairly certain that it happened to the guy almost every other day. But then, Fury had _died,_ (apparently, of course, because Tony refuses to believe it’s so easy to kill the man) shot through a _wall_ by some crazed assassin by the name of the Winter Soldier, and Steve still hadn’t called him. 

It hadn’t taken Tony long to figure out that SHIELD had been infested with Hydra the entire time, and it took him an even shorter time to get the location of a suddenly active Hydra base in DC. Which ended with him barging straight into a brainwashing session, only to realize the guy who killed Fury was Bucky _goddamn_ Barnes, like Tony hadn’t already been dealing with a Captain America-sized blast from the past. 

Tony suddenly realizes he still hasn’t added to his previous sentence and waves a hand. “Unless they forgot my number. Unlikely, considering they called it every other day. So, your girl."

"You should tell Rogers,” Rhodey says, once again refusing to give Tony the satisfaction of diverting the conversation. “Don't think he'd take very kindly to his best friend being kidnapped."

"I'll have you know,” Tony starts, taking a tissue to wipe the corner of his mouth. “I asked permission from the kidnapee. Speaking of, about your girl. What is it— Stockholm Syndrome?"

"Dude. You practically saved his life. He would have given you an arm _and_ a leg."

"Well, if it's any consolation, I wouldn't have let him." Tony pauses to take another bite of his cheeseburger when Jarvis speaks into his earpiece. 

**_"Sir, I may have just overheard a troubling exchange between Sergeant Barnes and Captain Rogers."_ **

Tony stops. Frowns. “What the hell is he doing with Bucky?” 

**_“I am not sure. Sergeant Barnes had intended to call you but he got distracted when the Captain showed up.”_ **

“What is it?” Rhodey asks just as Tony stands up, dropping his cheeseburger back on the plate. “Tony.” 

“I need to go. Steve’s with Bucky,” Tony answers, tucking a hundred dollar bill under his cup of coffee. He knows Steve well enough to the guy is already jumping into conclusions as to why Tony _kidnapped_ Bucky, and he’d like to be there to defend himself, thank you very much. 

“Wasn’t he in DC?” Rhodey asks, hot on Tony’s heels as they exit the cafe. He thanks whichever god there is for giving him the parking spot right outside. 

“Yeah, well you used the right tense,” Tony mutters under his breath as he stops in front of his car and turns to Rhodey, who’s standing at the entrance of the cafe. “Raincheck on our date, by the way. Don’t think I didn’t notice what you were doing.”

Rhodey folds his arms across his chest, the all-too-familiar smile playing at his lips. “I’ll have to check my schedule.” 

“Hilarious,” Tony deadpans, shooting Rhodey a look before getting into his car. “Right J, hit me. What are they talking about and what’s the best excuse I can give?” He’s just started his car when Jarvis responds a moment later, sounding almost hesitant. 

**_“They seem to be discussing the presumed accident of your parents.”_ **

“Seriously, what _is_ it with supersoldiers and their obsession with— _wait_ ” Tony stops, the gears already turning in his mind. “Jarv, did you say presumed?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _“this bitch has all these sentences to end a chapter with and she decides to end it with the **worst** one”_


	4. Chapter 4

_It wasn’t an accident._

_“_ **_Sir.”_ **

_HYDRA killed his parents. Bucky knew. Even goddamn Steve knew._

And if Steve knew _,_ if he’s known it for who knows how long, then someone else knew too. Someone who told Steve. Someone _Tony_ probably knew _,_ someone Tony joked with or gave a ride to his tower or _fought_ alongside with.

**_“Deep breaths, Sir.”_ **

Yeah, okay. He can do that. He can breathe. 

His mind is reeling with names and faces, insides twisting with each image and the possibility that it could be _them_ . SHIELD agents. Fury. His _teammates._ He thinks of Romanoff, the foundation of their relationship had been based on a lie; a lie that Tony had never forgiven her for but had a good mind to respect her job. He thinks of Barton, of Hill, of Coulson, of _Bruce._

In. Out. 

What if– _What if they all knew?_ Tolerated Tony’s snark and sarcasm only to laugh behind his back? Laugh at the self-proclaimed genius who can’t differentiate between an accident and a murder? Laugh, because one day, they could use it as leverage, get whatever they want from Tony in exchange for a secret so closely guarded that there was not a single record of it. As if Tony doesn’t already give them enough. 

In. Out.

There’s only one reason why SHIELD covered it up – SHIELD, because _of course,_ they’re the only ones ballsy enough to cover the death of Howard and Maria Stark. _Cover it up_ , so that Howard’s son doesn’t go looking for the murderer. Howard’s son who will stop at _nothing_ to find out who killed his parents. Howard’s son who will eventually find out Hydra’s role in it, who will get to the root of it, only to find Hydra embedded deep inside SHIELD and unleash _hell_ upon the goddamn organisation until SHIELD is nothing but dissipating dust. 

There’s only one reason, and it was _fear._

Fear that if Tony knew, he wouldn’t stop until his parents’ deaths were avenged; until _every single person_ who ever uttered the words murder and Howard and Hydra in the same sentence lived to fear the next day. _‘Now that he knows HYDRA killed his parents, he’ll— he’s out for blood,’_ Steve had said, the panic and fear painfully obvious in his voice, because Steve knew _the same thing._

_“It was me,” Bucky had said. “No, it wasn’t,” Steve’s response was immediate. So sure. Like he’s known about it for years._

**_“Sir.”_ **

And Bucky _knew –_ the entire _goddamn time_ Bucky knew his parents were _murdered_ and continued to let Tony think it was an accident. _Listened_ to how Tony’s guilt had consumed him when he found out his parents never made it to the Pentagon, when he realized he hadn’t said goodbye, when he _couldn’t_ say what he wanted to say. That he never could. 

The same organisation that enslaved Bucky _killed_ Tony’s parents, and the guy, in some twisted misplaced loyalty, just _continued_ to play make-believe with Tony. 

**_“Sir.”_ ** Jarvis says for _nth_ time and Tony finally snaps out of it. 

Tony clears his throat, blinks a few times. “Yeah, we’re fine.” 

**_“I am happy to hear that,”_ ** Jarvis responds as Tony pulls out of the parking spot he had frantically occupied when Jarvis started replaying the conversation between Steve and Bucky. **_“However, Miss Romanoff has been trying to reach you for the past ten minutes.”_ **

Time to deploy the vanguard. Tony clears his throat again. “Patch her through, J.”

 _“You know for a minute there, I thought you were ignoring me,”_ Natasha greets, ever so coyly. And because everything she does has at least five other reasons, it almost makes him wonder if she knew; if she was checking up on him. Distract him just enough so that Steve could get more time with Bucky. “Well, you’re not wrong,” Tony points out, his words a mask of nonchalance. As easy as it is for Tony to get a read on Natasha, she’s not far behind either. And he’s not about to show his cards so early in the conversation. “Any chance old man Cap’s with you?”

 _“No,”_ There’s a brief pause – so short that it was almost easy to miss – and then: _“Why?”_

“Never you mind,” he dismisses. Her pause had confirmed whatever suspicions Tony had about how much she knew. Needless to say, he wasn’t even surprised. “What’s the favor?” 

_“You think I only call you for favors?”_ she asks, and Tony could almost see the duplicitous smile on her face. It’s so easy to read her now; so easy to stop her from pulling at the carefully woven threads that formed the base of their– friendship? Alliance? – well, whatever relationship they had. 

Once upon a time, Tony would have hesitated to stop her from pulling. Hesitated, because it would have strained their relationship even more, but as of this moment, Tony could just cut it. Sever their relationship from its roots and throw it right back at Natasha who’d spent so long weaving it to her liking. 

“Did you call me to chat about the weather?” Tony asks sharply, cutting down any more of her attempts to prolong the conversation. 

He hears an annoyed sigh. _“SHIELD has sensitive information released into the Internet. Mission data, agent profiles, potential enhanced threats that the general population can’t know. Fury wants you to look into it.”_

Right, what else was Tony here for than catering to their every whim and fancy? He huffs out a laugh. 

“Party’s over and I get the invite now? Is this how you treat your former boss?” 

_“Tony, this is important,”_ Natasha reproves. _“There are undercover agents whose identities are at risk. Families are at risk. It’s not the time to flex your ego.”_

“Now that you mention families, what’s the current buzz on the Stark murders?” Tony asks, his words in the casual air of someone asking about the previous night’s score. He’s careful not to let the emotions leak and give Natasha a way through the cracks. The very mention – the _very thought_ – of his parents cold-blooded murder, covered up by SHIELD, and then Steve, Bucky and Natasha, makes his blood boil _way_ past its boiling degree. But anger never solved things for him, spite did. 

After a few moments of silence, she speaks, wary. _“Stark, where are you?”_

“You seem to be asking a whole load of questions for someone who doesn’t give away the answers,” Tony says. His car monitor shows an incoming call from Loki as soon as the words are out of his mouth. “Oh whoops, tunnel coming up. Ciao.”

 _“Tony, the SHIELD files–”_ Jarvis promptly cuts the call before Natasha can finish her sentence, and soon enough Loki’s voice rings in his earpiece. 

_“Anthony, where are you?”_

“Uh, driving,” Tony answers vaguely, more concerned on why Loki’s calling now, the god having promised his return from Asgard only by nightfall. “What’s up, Lokes?” 

Tony’s trying to remember if there’s anything important about today’s date when Loki responds. 

_“And your guest?”_ Loki asks, concerned, of course, but also conveniently bringing up the last thing Tony wanted to even think, much less talk about. 

“He’s…” Tony trails off. _Gone? Steve-napped?_ “...out shopping. You’re back early.” Tony says. His effort to steer the conversation elsewhere goes down the drain when Loki – self-proclaimed expert on all things Tony Stark – catches on way too fast at the distraction attempt.

_“What happened?”_

“Uh,” Tony stalls, weighing the pros and cons of updating Loki on current events. Loki never backed down from taking matters into his own hands, never sat back and watched his loved ones be wronged, and never sat silent no matter the situation. Loki had been the pillar whenever Tony had scrambled to steady himself from the overwhelming responsibilities that came in the form of SHIELD, SI, the government, and not to mention the whole superhero business. 

When Loki first came, it hadn’t even been days since Thor left from Greenwich. The god made an offhanded comment on his faked death, proceeding to threaten Tony with a real one in case Thor found out about Loki’s living status, and _then_ proceeded to pour himself a drink. And, well, Tony was a man who was quick to adapt to the sudden change in scenery – he valued his life a little, to say the least. Which is why, without uttering a word, Tony had sat beside Loki and poured himself a drink. 

That was a year ago. 

And a year was long enough for Tony to theorize that he would be signing his death certificate the day he decides to keep a secret like this from Loki. Which is why he says what he says. 

“The organisation that brainwashed Bucky into doing their dirty work?” Tony recalls, recalling their conversation from the time Loki had barged into the bedroom in the morning, demanding to see Tony’s wound before Tony had very cleverly steered the conversation towards Bucky. “Turns out they had a hand in my parents deaths.” 

There’s a sharp intake of breath, and then softly: _“Your parents were victims.”_

“Yeah,” Tony answers, as much as it pains him to. “They were– SHIELD covered it up.” It’s hard enough saying it out loud, to _voice_ out the reality of it and put it out there rather than letting it swirl within the confines of his own mind, but it’s even harder to keep his voice from _shaking_ . He’d been stupid to trust SHIELD, to trust the organisation that had all but established a hostility with him when he was dying from palladium poisoning. And _god,_ he’d been stupid enough to take Obie’s word for it in the first place back when it all happened, stupid enough to numbly nod at the words the lawyers had been saying. He’d been so _stupid._

“Rogers knew,” Tony says. “So did Bucky. Natasha.” Each word twists his gut even more. _They knew._ They _lied._

There’s silence from Loki’s end, his mind no doubt seething with a flurry of curses and death threats targeted at whoever was unfortunate enough. Tony’s trying to keep up his own facade, trying to contain the storm of feelings trapped behind a wall of glass ready to shatter at any moment. To his credit, Loki doesn’t go poking anywhere near Tony’s emotions. 

_“You said Bucky worked under them,”_ Loki finally says, the suspicion on the tip of his tongue, but Tony breaks in before the accusation can even take form.

“No.” Tony shakes his head. “It wasn’t him. He would have–” _told me?_ “Steve said it wasn’t him.”

_“And you believe the Captain?”_

I _don’t_ , Tony wants to say, but he can’t quite bring himself to. “He wouldn’t lie to Bucky,” is what he finally settles on. 

Loki sighs softly. _“Anthony, come home,”_ The words _ooze_ comfort, and Tony nearly finds himself complying. 

“Soon,” Tony promises. “I just– I need to make a pit stop.” 

Loki, ever so insistent, says, _“Tell me where you are.”_

“Fifth Avenue,” Tony answers, only realizing then that he was nearing the intersection where he’d dropped Bucky off. “I’ll be home soon.” Or so he hopes. 

_“Okay,”_ Loki answers shortly – _suspiciously_ shortly – but before Tony can even say anything more, Loki ends the call. 

His eyes begin scanning the passing crowds, eyes glazing over regular-sized civilians for the two hefty supersoldiers. He spots them soon enough, sticking out like two sore thumbs in front of a men’s salon. 

There’s visible tension in the space between them, Tony notes, with Bucky standing a few feet away, his posture closed and rigid, listening tight-lipped to something Steve’s saying. Tony slows down. 

Bucky’s eyes flick to the car briefly before he turns to Steve, but suddenly placing the familiar car, Bucky’s gaze drags right back, head shifting ever so slightly but evident enough that Steve turns to look. 

Now two supersoldiers are staring right at him, as if they could actually see through tinted glass if they tried hard enough. 

Steve, clearly sensing some kind of threat, places himself between Bucky and Tony’s car. And just like that, unbeknownst to Steve, Bucky takes a step to the side. Bucky knows it’s Tony, and Steve doesn’t, but with the look on Steve’s face, he’s already classified Tony’s car as some kind of threat towards Bucky. 

Tony decides in a split second that he’s not ready for this, that he can’t _do this._ He speeds out of the parking space, narrowly missing the car parked in front of him. He doesn’t _care_ that Bucky realized it was him, doesn’t care that it’s only a matter of time before Steve realizes too. 

Steve, who had immediately shifted to a defensive stance at whoever made Bucky tense. Steve hadn’t even _hesitated._

He parks a few blocks away, eyes darting towards the rear view mirror every few seconds. He hasn’t let go of the steering wheel yet, gripping it tight enough that his fingers start paling from the constricted blood flow. 

Seeing the both of them felt like a slap in the face – one a _teammate,_ the other a _friend,_ or so he had hoped. It was the kind of slap that pricks tears, the kind that ripples pain throughout the body in waves. With all that Steve had spoken of Howard, praising the man in a ridiculously blinding light, Tony would have expected Steve to bring down SHIELD himself. Tony’s respect for his father was a mere fraction in comparison to his love for his mother, but they had been wronged all the same. _Betrayed_ by the very people they had given years of their time and commitment to. In some warped sense of irony, now it’s Tony the one betrayed. 

He doesn’t put it beside Fury knowing either. Bastard that he is, the guy was the closest thing Tony had to a father, and Tony never had a good track record when it came to father figures. God, and Tony had been right, hadn’t he? _Captain, he’s_ **_the_ ** _spy; his secrets have secrets –_ and Steve could have just laughed in his face. 

When Loki appears in the passenger seat right next to him, Tony doesn’t even notice. His forehead is pressed against the top of the wheel, eyes screwed shut and lips pursed in a futile attempt to keep his emotions inside. He hears Loki’s breathing, just soft enough to not startle Tony, but loud enough that it’s audible to Tony. 

Tony sits up, allowing a shaky breath to escape his lips before he’s back to clenching his teeth. Neither of them speak a word – Loki’s eyes on Tony, and Tony’s gaze fixed straight ahead. 

“Do not let the anger poison your mind,” Loki says quietly. “Rarely does it end well.” 

“But it ends.” 

Loki’s silent, and then: “Yes.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can i just _talk_ about loki's response? im annoyed that i can't bring it up in this story but i just need to put this out there okay bear with me.  
> okay, god, loki, right? he knows exactly what tony's feeling. he's been lied to, he's had to reconsider everything about himself, about the people around him and just- he was so _angry_ and he'd lashed out, and in the end he found himself letting go and losing himself to the void.  
> he made the choice because he knew it could never be the same again - not with odin, not with frigga, not with thor. they lied, and he got angry and did things he can't reverse. and!! he wants to be there for tony!! because he's been there, and he tells him to not let the anger consume him. but tony just wants it to end!!! and loki thinks of everything he had gone through himself, thinks of the betrayal and the lies, but eventually it did end, and he's not going to lie to tony, not _now,_ so yes, he says, it's painful, but it ends :( 
> 
> okay, i'm done, carry on :D


End file.
